


Never Will You Shake Me Off

by leatherstar



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Falling In Love, Fluff and Smut, Historical Inaccuracy, I MEAN IT GUYS THERE IS NEXT TO NOTHING ACCURATE ABOUT THIS, M/M, fun fact: the place in which Gomez lives is actually is hometown, i also think there will be different POVs, i believe this is set some time in 1800, i just wanted to place them in a happy place on a happy time, i'll try to leave this as angst-less as possible, or so i think
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-29
Updated: 2014-09-17
Packaged: 2018-02-10 22:39:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2042952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leatherstar/pseuds/leatherstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Götze, of course, smiled in response, and Marco was feeling weaker by the second. The boy was absolutely gorgeous, and the setting sun did wonders to accentuate the colours of his skin, his eyes, his hair.<br/>A golden boy.<br/>«Yes, in fact, there is. I'm sure I can take you to see it someday. It's a beautiful view, it would be a pity not to make art out of it.»<br/>And, Marco realised, it would be even better if Mario was in the painting, too. There was something about him, something that begged Marco's insides to try. Try and capture all that light."</p><p> </p><p>Or: an AU in which Thomas and Marco are artists, Mario Gomez is Götze's uncle and, apparently, a very rich Count, and everybody falls in love in a blink of an eye.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kittenmesut](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittenmesut/gifts).



> I do not know these people: in fact, I know so little about them and the sport they play that I've decided to put them on a setting of my own invention. THIS IS ALL FICTION. I made it all up, so expect a lot of historical inaccuracies, and, maybe, some mistakes, since i have no beta yet and english is not my first language. Any (kind and polite) comment will be most appreciated! This is for my Ludovica kittenmesut, hope you enjoy it, baby. xx

**“ _but i do adore you — every part of you from heel to hair._**

**_never will you shake me off, try as you may „_ **

Virginia Woolf, from a letter to Vita Sackville-West dated May 1928

 

 

What Marco knew about beauty, was that nothing could quite catch his attention like it.

When he was twelve, he decided to do something about it. He wasn't very much like the other boys, who started taking an interest in girls and played running after each other in the woods. If he sat between the trees, it was just to try and capture their images on paper.

Yes, Marco loved to draw, and that was why, after receiving various praises from locals teachers, he decided, at the age of fifteen, to travel to the other side of Germany to be the apprentice of the notorious and talented Thomas Müller.

Müller wasn't that much older, but everyone that was Somebody in their country wanted a portrait made by him. There was something unique about his work, like there was an understanding between the painter and the subject of the painting that not even the customer himself could quite catch.

What nobody knew, Marco learnt, was that Thomas was an absolute goofball that loved to drink and fool around, and he was a damned menace. It was totally absurd, but a lot of the time Marco was actually certain to be his nanny. But oh, how much he learnt from him. Müller was a genious: the way he played with colours, how the brushes seemed like extensions of his hands... No, his master was no fool when it came to his art, and Marco was honored to be able to see him in his element.

He, himself, was getting better every day, or so they told him. Unfortunately, he didn't feel that he was becoming an artist so much as a... _technician_ of painting. What more he improved in technique, he seemed to lack in passion, in that _je ne sais quoi_ that he so admired in Thomas. And that frustrated him to no end, because, you see, it wasn't that he didn't love painting anymore. On the contrary, the marvel of it striked him every single day. He just didn't feel the _need_ to make a masterpiece out of someone ordinary. Places, yes, he could draw for days. But there was a distinctive lack of interest towards the people who asked him for portraits: something he couldn't explain even to himself. Müller always said that his job was to embellish the idiots and capture the souls of the noble spirits; but Marco doubted to have met the latter yet.

Thomas didn't seemed to think it was a great deal, but Marco thought he knew better, and that just seemed to endear his master, who laughed fondly and mocked him everytime they brushed the subject.

As it's already been said: Marco often forgot who was the older one.

 

“There's a letter for you,” Marco said, entering the room in which Thomas was lying on his bed, almost naked, drinking a bottle of wine.

“I figure it's pointless to ask you, once again, to knock on the door before you come past it. I could have been doing far worse.” Müller told him, but Marco shrugged: “I would have ignored you as I'm doing now. I'm not new to such things. But for the love of God, this room stinks.”

Thomas groaned while his apprentice opened the windows; “To think that you were such a shy and well mannered boy at the beginning! What happened to you!”

“ _You_ happened” Marco smirked, tossing him the letter, “And read this. I wouldn't have minded leaving it on the counter like the rest of them, but i have never seen this type of sealing wax, so.”

Thomas picked it up and waved a hand, dismissing Marco, “Yeah, thanks. Go on, have a great life doing whatever you do when you are not bothering me.”

The master then noticed two things: one, the sealing wax was actually like he'd never seen before, bright blue with tiny flowers, excellent job; and two, Marco was still there, undoubtely really curious. Thomas looked up: “I doubt this is something important, you know,” but his apprentice stood there, unmoving, “The boy who brought it said it's likely that it comes from south. I want to know.”

“Alright, alright” Müller muttered, beginning to feel the first sparks of curiosity himself. The sheet seemed really expensive, as he straightened the paper; with ever growing wonder, he read,

 

> _**S** ir Thomas Müller,_
> 
> _I would like to request the honour of having your talents borrowed to make me and my nephew happy. He asked for a portrait and me and him both could not think of anyone other than you, as we've both heard wonders about your art all over the country. Of course, as I know how much my mansion is far from where you live, you would not need to worry for a place to stay, as I would gladly be your host. You could also bring with you anyone you want, although I can assure you that you'll be assisted in everything you may need or require._
> 
> _Your hard work will be fairly rewarded._
> 
> _Regards,_
> 
> _Count Mario Gomez von Riedlingen_

 

 

“Well, this is something” Thomas said, now aware that Marco had sat beside him on the bed and was reading the letter.

“Count Mario Gomez?” the apprentice asked, and it was clear that the name didn't ring a single bell inside his head.

“The boy was right indeed, this comes from south; I must say I don't blame you for not knowing who this Count is. The only things I know, past clients told me. The richest ones.”

Marco furrowed his blonde, thick brows: “So, what's the deal with him?”

Müller lied on the bed, staring at the ceiling. “Apparently, he is one of the last of a really ancient and noble family, one that started when a Spanish princess and a German Count joined in holy matrimony; as I understand, there were then more joinings between Germans and Spanish, as it became a bit of a tradition. What it's certain is that they are as dear to both Crowns as they were cursed with a bad luck: many, many tragedies in the course of the years. I believe that Count Mario Gomez is the last remained in Germany, until he finds a wife, if he doesn't already have, of course. I wouldn't know about it unless someone told me. I believe he has some uncles scattered around Europe, but no sisters or brothers that I know of. It's news to me that he has a nephew.”

Marco has listened carefully, and was now reading the letter again: “And he lives so far south? So far from the King! If he is the last of his family, with only this mysterious nephew, he must conduct a very lonely life. Here up north, there's much more nobilty than down south.”

“You are right,” Müller said, “and that's the thing. All the people I've spoken with about him, they never really talked to him. There was the Duchess – she saw him the one time the Princess got married, and he came to the ceremony. But it was a brief visit, and he wasn't really sociable.”

“But why? Do you think he's a jerk?”

Thomas furrowed his eyebrows and took a sip of wine. “I honestly don't. I didn't before, and I certainly don't now that I've read his words.”

“What about them?”

The artist smiled: “You truly have talent, Reus, but you still have to learn to _see_ thingsfor what they are. You overlook so much. Do you know how many, lesser human beings than Count Mario Gomez made their assistants write their requests? They would add their signature at the end, sometimes not even that. This man wrote the whole letter himself, you can recognise the writing. If you don't understand the subtle but strong importance of this, you need to stop dreaming and begin to really look around, boy.”

“So,” Marco followed, trying not to get offended, “it was a great gesture from him to make you personally a request. It shows that he is involved in this thing, that he cares about it, and that he is honest about what he wrote.”

Müller nodded: “And I do hope he is, since I'm going to reply that we accept right now.”

He rose from the bed and Marco did, too: “Wait, wait a minute. Are you saying that I can come with you?”

“Why, Reus, of course. Who else would I poke for a whole month, without you?”

 

 

It took five days of journey for them to arrive at destination. Thomas liked to travel light and comfortably, so they didn't bring much with them, mindful of the fact that Count Mario Gomez had assured once again that he would provide anything they might need.

Marco was extremely grateful of the fact that his master kept his word and brought him with himself: it was an excellent opportunity to see new places and new faces, and both of them could inspire him, could hope to light a fire in him he didn't even think he got, by now.

 

 

Count Gomez's mansion was an enormous thing. It was miles away from even the tiniest village, which reinforced Marco's idea that the Count was an hermit; but no hermit would live in a palace as big as this. There were endless fields and meadows, and even though it was autumn, most of them were still full of flowers; among this incredible nature, stood the even more incredible manor, high and large, all white and with classical features.

“To make art in a place like this.. We will feel like Michelangelo” Thomas said, voice full of awe, and Marco could not agree more.

Of course, their arrival didn't go unnoticed. They were immediately approached by a tall man with a big smile, who introduced himself as 'Kloppo' and gestured for two other young men to take care of the artists' luggage.

“The Count was waiting patiently for you, his nephew.. Not so patiently” said Kloppo, guiding them into the mansion, which got even more beautiful moment by moment.

Marco was speechless; his master kept making conversation, stating the beauty of the place, until Kloppo opened a door. And suddenly Thomas seemed at a loss for words, too.

A man stood in front of them, dressed in blue, expensive fabric; he was tall and muscular and.. Handsome, even more than that. Marco could honestly say he had never seen such a beautiful human being in his entire life.

The man smiled at them, and a few lines formed around his eyes: he was no boy, but he couldn't have had more than thirty years, like Thomas had said before.

“Good morning,” he said, and Marco was too dumbstruck by that voice to hear the sharp inhale of his master. “I am Mario Gomez, as you could probably guess.”

The Count extended his hand to Thomas, and the latter was sure he had to kiss it –kiss that beautiful, large hand, oh, God- but instead, Gomez took his and shook it. Like they were equals. “Master Müller, I hope,” the man said, keeping Thomas' hand in his, “I heard so much about you. It's such an honour to have you here.”

Müller, Marco noticed, had _blushed,_ which was an absolute first for him, as long as Marco knew. He felt like he was watching a treasurable show, because his master had never seemed flustered in front of another person.

“The honour,” he said, clearing his voice, “is entirely mine. You flatter me, I am not worthy to be in such a beautiful place, with such beautiful people.”

The compliment flew out of his mouth seemingly without his consent, because the colour on Thomas' cheeks became almost violent, and he tightened his jaw. It was almost endearing to watch, mused Marco, trying not to smile.

But it was _certainly_ endearing to the Count, whose eyes were now definitely gleaming. “You are not here without reason,” he replied, “and I expect you will be a very nice addition to my humble home.”

Calling that place _humble_ would have probably been the last thing Marco would have ever done, but at least the Count was nice for trying.

Gomez took his eyes away from Müller to finally look at him: “And I guess you are Marco Reus, the fellow artist.”

They shook hands -seriously, who even _was_ this man- and Marco smiled: “Just an apprentice, for now.”

Gomez elegantly waved a hand: “I'm sure you are good already, and you'll became one of our most prized talents. After all, you are seemingly learning by the best we have” he praised, winning another clumsy smile from Thomas.

This was getting really interesting.

“I apologize” followed Gomez, “it seems that the subject of your next work has gone swimming by the nearby lake. I'll immediately send someone to let him know you're here.”

“There's no need” rushed Thomas, “We'll see him eventually.”

Count Mario smiled apologetically at him: “He honestly couldn't wait to know you. But I'm afraid patience isn't one of his strong suits.”

Marco felt almost like a third wheel already, with those two, who apparently couldn't stop looking at each other. They was most definitely a mutual fascination. He felt sorry for Kloppo, who still stood by the door, ignored by all of them.

Seemingly reading his mind, the Count addressed his servant: “I believe our guests' luggage have already been taken to their rooms?”

Kloppo nodded, “Of course, my lord.”

“Good. Would you mind showing them, then? I'm sure they would like to rest for a little while, after the long journey.” He turned back to them: “I'll see you for dinner.”

They smiled back, replying their fare shade of kind words, then following Kloppo, who bowed down to his lord and then exited the room.

 

 

Marco's room was three times bigger than the one he had at Thomas', at least. It had a large and comfy bed and high windows, exactly the way he liked. It was a room worthy of a prince. Marco felt, once again, extremely grateful to his master.

He expected, like Gomez had said, to feel tired after the long journey, but, even if the bed was a gift from God, he was curious and restless, and he wanted to know more about the place and the people in it. It would have certainly been rude to wander around the palace without permission; so Marco decided to go downstairs and get some fresh air, take a walk in the gardens.

He splashed some water on his face, put on his boots and then left his room. Even the hallway gave away a sense of nobility and wealth Marco never possessed; he felt like a thief just touching his fingers on the walls. It was just as he took down the few steps to the door that lead outside, that he saw him.

 _Him_ was an approaching figure; he was probably a boy his age, a few years younger maybe. And he was.. nearly naked. The setting sun painted dark shadows on that golden body, those legs that seemed strong, the slightly round belly, the muscled arms.

The boy was getting closer, and Marco found strangely hard to catch his breath. The tan extended to his face, where round cheeks, rosy lips and dark, warm eyes truly created a masterpiece.

And now, this close, Marco understood why his skin seemed so shiny. He was slightly _wet_. Ah.

“And who do you might be?” said the boy, looking at him with open interest.

Marco swallowed.

“I'm Marco Reus, Master Thomas Mueller's apprentice.”

“Oh,” the boy positively beamed, and Marco fought hard not to faint. Or run. “That's so so wonderful, I'm so happy to meet you! I'm Mario Götze, the Count's nephew” he said, extending a tiny -for men's standards, okay, he was just _too cute_ \- hand for Marco to shake. Reus honestly wanted nothing more than to kiss it. To think that he was so impressed by the Count's gesture, and now he wanted to throw away any equality and basically snog a stranger's hand.

Ah, an artist's mind.

“I suppose you are, then, the subject of the painting?” Marco said, congratulating himself for not stuttering. He had an habit of doing that when he was nervous.

“I very much am” was the very much welcomed reply. Or, well. To be honest, Marco didn't know how to feel. He was too much busy trying not to watch the too much tanned skin of his guest's nephew, who seemed now to become aware of his state of undress.

“Oh,” he suddenly said, with an impish expression, barely hiding a grin, “sorry about this. I don't think it's the best state an employer should meet his employee. I apologize.”

He was absolutely adorable. Marco could tell that he wasn't embarassed at all. He knew he should act like he was, but he wasn't.

Well, with those face and body, neither he should have.

“None needed,” tried to smile Marco, “your uncle said there is a lake nearby?”

Götze, of course, smiled in response, and Marco was feeling weaker by the second. The boy was absolutely gorgeous, and the setting sun did wonders to accentuate the colours of his skin, his eyes, his hair.

A golden boy.

“Yes, in fact, there is. I'm sure I can take you to see it someday. It's a beautiful view, it would be a pity not to make art out of it.”

And, Marco realised, it would be even better if Mario was in the painting, too. There was something about him, something that begged Marco's insides to try. Try and capture all that light.

“We can definitely do that” Marco said, and Mario kept smiling: “Wonderful.”

Marco couldn't stop staring. “Wonderful.”

“Sir Götze!” a now familiar voice said, and sure enough, there was Kloppo, crossing the door “Come inside before it gets much colder, are you mad?”

Mario rolled his eyes and blinked an eye in Marco's direction; “Do not talk to me like this in my guest's presence. What will he think? I could chopp your tongue off, servant.”

Kloppo came closer with his hands on his hips: “What your guestdoesn't know is that you threaten me almost ten times a day, and I'm still whole and alive. Bless your soul, Sir Mario, but now please do make me a favour and go changing before supper, and before you catch a cold. Our guests would certainly not be happy to have to paint a sick man.”

“That would be quite the challenge, though, and who doesn't like a good one?” Mario smirked. “I most definitely do” replied Marco, and the other boy gifted him with another big smile, one that showed off all of his white, pretty teeth.

Even his _teeth_ were pretty, oh no.

“I'll see you, later, then” Mario Götze said, and only when he left Marco was reminded that he had a body in addition of a mouth, and that he had to use it.

For the love of God. What even was that place, and how fucked he was.

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is short and almost nothing happens. I apologize ;_; not beta-ed because i'm quite in a hurry.  
> usual disclaimers and blablabla.

“So, Sir Reus, how long have you been studying with Master Müller?”

Marco looked up from his still full plate (as shocking as it was, he was getting used to Gomez calling him titles that he wasn't worth of) to look at the Count; he had been admittedly quiet until now, but it was just because he had noticed, to his horror, that if he looked around, his eyes always found their way to Gomez's nephew. Mario.

He still looked like a dream, and he was even more so placed next to his uncle. The older Mario was still wearing blue clothes, while the younger opted for dark red ones: they surely were a sight for Marco's eyes.

Thomas had seemed to recover a bit from whatever spell he had seemed under that afternoon: he made jokes and talked a lot, and the Count looked absolutely charmed by him. The young Mario, too, made conversation; he seemed witty and clever, and his laugh was like music to Marco's ears.

Wait, did the Count make a question?

“It's been almost five years now, my Lord.”

“Five!” Mario Gözte seemed surprised. “Aren't you tired? Don't you want to be on your own?”

“Mario.” Gomez said.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be rude” the boy continued, and Marco watched him curiously, “Don't get me wrong, but isn't it more difficult to be taken seriously if they know you just as his apprentice?”

Marco smiled slightly, “Not really. It's been five years, yes, but when I first got to him, I knew almost nothing about art. The first two and a half years were more or less all dedicated to my education about its history, and the basic facts of drawing and painting. I studied and then copied classical art all day. You'd be surprised to know how much there is to learn.”

Mario was nodding slowly, and Marco added: “So, I've been following him around to actively see him work for just about two years. And that's not bad at all, since it's very common that the customers of his paintings ask me to do something else, something minor maybe, but a drawing or a painting nonetheless.”

“Marco _is_ good” said his master. “His name is slowly getting known around the country, and I'm sure he will soon be called by someone who'll want his work alone, without mine.”

Marco couldn't hide the proud smile on his face, mostly because there was pride in Thomas' words, too.

The Count was also smiling: “Am I wrong to think that you've become friends, during the years? You seem very fond of each other.”

Marco laughed. “With all due respect, my Lord,” he fake-whispered, “I think he thinks he's a bit like my father, but I am the one who takes care of him. A genious, but a very messy one, in all aspects.”

They all laughed as Thomas showed him his tongue, and it was _not_ normal, not at all: they had just met each other, they were two noblemen and two common people, and here they were, joking like they had known each other for years.

And it didn't feel weird at all.

“Okay, okay,” said Mario Götze, the shadow of a laugh still present in his boyish, beautiful features, “But, if you don't mind, how old are you? Sorry, sorry,” he added, after seeing his uncle's glare, “I'm just curious, is all. I'm eighteen, myself.”

“No need to worry,” Müller smiled. “I'm twenty-five, and Marco has just turned twenty.”

Mario Gomez smiled to his nephew: “Seems like you remain the baby of the house.”

Mario rolled his eyes, crossing his arms, but it was clear that he was fighting a big smile. Marco fought one of his own.

Gomez turned to them once again: “He likes to go on about how much of a man he is, but then he does love to be pampered a bit.”

“ _Tìo_!” Mario exclaimed, seemingly shocked, but he was positively radiant, and that didn't hide that he, in fact, adored it. Marco was overcome by the urge to gather him in his arms and cuddle him. Mario had every right to be spoiled and loved, and ugh, could Marco's mind just chill a bit, please.

“I'm just telling these young men the truth” continued the Count with his deep, silky voice, smiling at Thomas who was helplessy beaming in return. “It is, after all, at your request that they are here.”

“Whatever” Mario sniffed, stuffing some food into his mouth to hide his grin. Marco couldn't stop looking at him, and so he, for the first time, started a conversation: “What do you need the portrait for, if I might ask? I mean, is it a gift, or..?”

And well, that was an extremely rude question, if the kick Thomas threw at his leg under the table was any indication. Thomas had always been clear about it: it is the customer who warns them about the destination and purpose of the work, or it's Thomas who makes the question, asking them what they had in mind, what they exactly want. Marco knew this all too well.

Oh God. This was such a pleasant dinner, shame to have ruined it.

But, instead of acting offended, Mario grinned: “Oh, it is not. I just want to know what I look like to others.”

Marco cought himself before spitting the water he was drinking. “Excuse me?”

Mario Gomez laughed: “You're lucky he hasn't stopped talking to admire his reflection on the knives yet.”

“Oh come on, I'm not _that_ bad!” Götze protested, placing down knife and fork. “I just... Enjoy to know how I look, is all.”

At this point, not even Müller could hide his amusement: “This painting shall be as true as it can be, then” he said, showing his teeth in a big smile, one that Mario, still blushing lightly, eagerly returned: “Of course! I'm not one to shy away from my flaws,” “The point being that he doesn't think there is any” his uncle concluded, and the youngest of them squealed and buried his face in his hands.

Apparently the Count loved to tease his nephew mercilessly, but always with an hidden kindness and fondness that left Götze embarassed but not so secretly pleased.

Mario loved being the centre of the attention and Marco was starting to really enjoy studying him.

 

The dinner passed in a similar fashion, and when they all parted ways, agreeing to see each other for breakfast the following morning, Marco was feeling tired but happy, with his belly full of fantastic food and his mind charmed by not-so-strangers-anymore.

He and Thomas remained strangely silent during the walk to their rooms; his master had a thoughtful expression on his face, where a tiny smirk came from time to time. But Marco was no one to judge, seeing that he probably looked the same.

“Alright, so.. See each other tomorrow” Müller said, one hand on the handle of his door.

“Yeah,” Marco said, “I've got a good feeling about all of this, don't you?”

His master smiled: “Glad we're on the same page, Reus. Have a good rest.”

But sleep didn't find Marco immediately, that night; he tossed and turned for a while, already thinking about which colour would better resemble Mario Götze's eyes.

 

“So, where do you want to do this?”

Thomas was well aware that the best morning light had already gone; but for the first hours he had just to sketch out anyway, and everyone needed a good rest, so he wasn't annoyed in the least.

“I'm not really picky,” Götze said, but the artist knew better, and - “but there is a balcony on the second floor, and the view is truly amazing. I was thinking that it would be very cool if he were to do it there.”

“I'll have to check the light, because if the sun catches you directly, I'd have to use dark colours on you, and I'm sure it's not what you want.”

“Oh,” Mario said, evidently trying to hide his disappointment, “Of course, I'm sure we could find another place, if that's not possible.”

“But surely we can make a few arrangements, even if the place is not ideal for the light” interrupted Marco, who seemed eager to reassure the noble boy. “Can't we, Master Müller?” and oh, how sweet this was. 

Thomas had been sure of it the night before, and this was just another confirmation.

Marco most definitely had a crush on Mario.

It was particularly amusing because he had seen his apprentice with girls and even one boy one time, but Marco had never seemed really taken by them.

And here was another boy. What could he say? They were artists and philosophers, they knew there were people who would have burned them for lying with other men, but they honestly couldn't care less. It was their nature, and as long as they kept those proclivities for themselves (and their occasional lovers, of course), no one would bother them.

So Thomas wasn't one to judge, no. Especially seeing the impression that the Count made on him.

The beauty of Mario Gomez was something unseen in Germany: his features brought together two nations, appearing strong but somehow exotic. He was handsome as much as he was kind, and Thomas ought to feel relieved that he wasn't with them this morning, so he could concentrate better on his nephew, but he couldn't help feeling a little disappointed.

Müller put a reassuring smile on his face: “Yes, Marco. Do not fear, Lord Götze, as my eager apprentice said, everything will turn out for the better.”

Marco was blushing, but Mario was smiling again, so the young artist could feel proud of himself, Thomas mused.

Therefore, Götze brought them on this special place on the second floor, and yes, Müller could _definitely_ understand why he was so keen on having his portait with that background. The view extended on the green fields and the woods, and you could also see a bit of that lake the artists heard about. It was really beautiful, and Thomas agreed with Marco: if they worked when the sunlight was still gentle, or when the sun began to set, the light wouldn't be a problem.

“This is a gorgeous place, Lord Götze,” Thomas said. “It will be a pleasure to surround you with such a breathtaking setting.”

And, well, even the smile Mario made in response was pretty breathtaking: Thomas felt almost sorry for Marco, who was looking at the noble boy with a sort of helpless, smitten expression.

And he had met Mario just the day before.

 

The morning went by rather smoothly. Mario Götze was a chatty, charming thing, who constantly talked, but when he made a question, listened carefully to the answer.

He was also an interesting model, that for sure: he evidently found pleasing standing there to be looked at, and from time to time looked at Thomas with one could only describe as a smoulder. It was rather hard for Thomas to not at least smile, even more so because he could feel Marco radiating hormones and jealousy and arousal. The more the hours passed by, the more the young noble seemed to hypnotize his apprentice. Which, okay. Mario was quite pleasing to look at: he had tan skin (which, seriously, for them North Germans was quite a sight to behold) and he wasn't that tall or thin, with round cheeks, bright eyes and light brown hair. Every of these traits suited him perfectly: he was quite a beauty. But they weren't what made him special... Thomas believed he didn't need to ask Marco if he thought the same.

Mario had a special _something_ , that Thomas, as an artist, fought to find in anyone he worked for. But in Mario it shone bright, and Müller couldn't quite pinpoint what it was, or how to represent it with his tools: he had to find out. He had, or his work would never be complete.

Oh well, he had never failed before. And he could always ask Marco for advice.

Better put the lad to use for painting, before he caught him writing poetry about noble young boys with sunshine in their eyes.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to post more of it, but tomorrow i'm going on holiday again and i won't be able to write on a computer for a week, so i thought i would at least leave you with /something/.  
> More interesting thing are going to happen next, promise!  
> Little fun fact: /tìo/ means 'uncle' in Spanish. I looked it up. We'll soon know more about uncle and nephew and their origins u.u  
> Anyway, the response to the first chapter was more than i could ever hope for, thank you so much to all those who readed, bookmarked, left kudos and commented, you're all such lovely people! If you want, come have a chat with me on tumblr at leatherstar.tumblr.com and twitter, where i'm sweetilsness ♥  
> seriously, all of this means very much, i just wanted to write a story about Mario being narcissistic enough to commission the best painter in all Europe just to always have a reminder of how he looked eheheh! It all started looking at one of his selfies and thinking "what would have he done when photographs didn't exist???????" I spend my time very seriously, as you see.  
> Anyway, better going now. I'll try to update as soon as i can, even if, as Ludo said, i'm "one of /those/ authors" D:  
> Love you ALL (especially you, Lueblue, of course)!! xxx


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here I aaaaam!  
> I am posting this at an ungodly hour -that means that it is EARLY MORNING- because my internet connection finally works and i'm dying to let you read this chap! It's my favourite chap (even if its focus is on a pair only -do not worry, I will concentrate on the others next) so far and I hope you all will like it too.  
> Again, I'm at leatherstar on tumblr and sweetilsness on twitter, come have a chat ♥  
> Thank you to anyone who reads, leaves kudos and especially comments!  
> Love you all. xx

“Hey, Marco!”

After lunch, Marco was walking to his room, not knowing what to do, since Thomas had said that, at this point, it would have been better to stop working for the rest of the day and get an early start the next morning. Mario had happily agreed (“I don't mind waking up early, if it's for the best!”), and so everyone was now left to their own device.

Marco turned around, heartbeats picking up speed, and found the Count's nephew running up to him. His cheeks were rosy and his eyes bright, and, with an infectious smile, he asked: “What are you up to?”

Marco shrugged, “I don't know. I'm not really used to not having much to do.”

Mario grinned: “No lazy afternoons at home?”, to which Marco snorted: “Oh, believe me, back home there is too much to do, for the simple reason that Master Müller does absolutely nothing apart from painting and resting.”

“Interesting man” said Mario, still smiling, and Marco shrugged again: “At least staying with him is never boring.”

“I bet,” was the answer. “What I wanted to ask you was, would you like to come to the lake with me?”

“Oh!” Marco blurted out, undeniably pleased. “Are you – I mean, of course! It'd be a pleasure to come with you.”

“Great!” Götze grinned again, and Marco felt his face split up in a smile of his own. “We shall meet at the front door in, say, twenty minutes? Is that alright with you? We'll take advantage of this sunny day.”

“Perfect.”

Marco closed the door of his room, took three deep breaths, and collapsed on his bed, a big smile never leaving his face.

 

 

The lake was about fifteen minutes on foot from the mansion; Mario hadn't wanted any servants with them, and so now each of them was carrying a basket, Marco's filled with fruit and juice, Mario's with blankets and towels.

“You come here often, I assume?”

Mario laid down a blanket and gestured for Marco to sit down next to him.

“I do. It's one of the most peaceful places I know of. And I especially love water.”

“What about it?”

Mario looked at the lake, that shining mirror among trees and green.

“I don't know” he said, smiling rather bashfully, “I like the way it feels on my skin.”

He looked at Marco, who was fiddling with the blanket to avoid showing how unsettled he was.

Everything Mario said was like a punch to the stomach, and the way with which he talked only made it worse. Mario had just sounded so innocent, almost childish, yet all Marco could think of was the feeling of his wet skin.

It was rather hard to forget.

“I'm sure it likes you too” he tried to joke, and Mario giggled. “Can you swim, Marco?”

“A bit, Lord Götze, but I'm not very good.”

“Please,” Mario smiled, “would you call me Mario? It feels so weird, we could be friends. I don't want to be called Lord by a friend who's only two years older than me.”

“I don't think it's appropriate” Marco tried to protest, but it was weak, since all he wanted to do was getting intimate with the noble boy.

“Well then, how about I command you to call me Mario?” Götze smiled showing his white teeth, and Marco finally smiled back, disarmed despite himself.

“Guess I don't have a choice but to obey you” he answered, and something passed briefly on Mario's eyes, something Marco couldn't quite catch, but intrigued him all the same.

“Guess you have to” remarked the noble boy, voice an octave lower, and Marco felt his eyes widening.

It was soon finished, though, because Mario cleared his throath and smiled once again. “Anyway, how about we swim for a while, and I teach you some technique if you need it?”

Marco paused for some seconds, still trying to understand what happened the minute before; then he shaked himself and said, dubious, “I think, yeah, I can, but..”

“I promise you, the water for the first seven meters or so isn't deep, it's not dangerous” Mario interrupted him, caring and perceptive, and Marco was surprised by how he had caught what was troubling him. He smiled. “If you say so. I expect you to catch me if something goes wrong, _Mario_ ,” he joked, watching Mario getting up and then on his knees, hand on his heart.

“On my honor, Marco Reus. I shall protect your artsy self from any harm” he recited, mocking-serious, and Marco laughed, happy, then got to his feet himself.

“And I shall trust you with my life, on this dangerous journey at the mercy of the waves.”

Mario laughed, too. “There are no waves in this lake! Water's as still as it can be! But I promise I'll do my best!”

Marco, though, was anxious to show Mario that he might not be the best swimmer, but he _had_ a strong and athletic body, so was the first to open his shirt and take it off, watching Mario's eyes widening, jaw slacking a bit.

“Well, who would have thought an artist would have _those_ abs?” the young lord asked, and Marco tried to hold back a smirk. “I told you I'm not holed up painting all day. I quite love to run, and I also know how to use a sword, since I often practice with a friend of mine, who's a knight.”

Mario extended his arms, palms up: “Well, I'm impressed! I guess I don't have to protect you out of the water too, after all!”

Marco smiled, folding his shirt and putting it on the blanket; he was, however, not prepared to straighten his back and watch Mario take off his own shirt. It was the natural course of things. Of course Mario had to take it off, too. But Marco, basking in the attention, had not prepared himself to it, to the other boy discarding shirt and trousers, only little fabric covering his most intimate parts.

Mario's skin was golden, and smooth and soft, or so it seemed. As Marco had already noticed, he wasn't what one would describe as skinny: his body was all curves, and it was beautiful. Marco imagined how it would be to run his fingers on the expanse of Mario's back, and he immediately started taking off his own trousers, trying to think of something else, or Mario would have noticed something interesting.

“You are so thin,” Mario whined, and the artist looked at him: the other boy was sporting an adorable pout, standing with his arms crossed. “It's unfair. God blessed all of you who don't have an inch of fat on your body.”

Marco smiled, nearly overwhelmed by the urge to take Mario by the arms and tell him with fervor that he was perfect. “You are exaggerating.”

The young lord scoffed, beginning to make his way to the water. “I'm not. Unfortunately, I love to eat and drink, and I'm not totally dedicated to practicing with the sword or riding. I admit that I do love lazy days,” he said, almost bashful, and Marco felt his own face opening up in one of the sweetest smiles he had ever made. “There's nothing wrong with that” he said very kindly. “I assure you. Now come on, help me get into this thing, I'm afraid the water will be freezing and I'm not as used to it as you are.”

 

 

 

Marco had swimmed, like, two times in all of his life. He had maybe exaggerated when he told Mario that he was able to do it. Sure, he knew how to stay afloat, and he knew he had to constantly move his limbs, but that was kind of all.

So now he was dying of embarassement while Mario was touching his torso and his legs, trying to explain to him how to move.

“And then you open your arms in a circle and you put them kinda to your hips, okay? Like this? Good, you have to do it with your legs too, at the same time.”

Marco nodded, or did what could resemble a nod, given that his neck was straining with the effort to keep his head out of the water. Swimming was _tiring_.

And the water was, indeed, too cold. Marco was almost freezing; as Mario said, keep moving was the only thing that managed to warm the body up.

That and leaving the water and getting to safe ground again, was thinking Marco. That would have been a good idea.

Mario had left him and was now several feet apart: “Okay, how about you come here to me on your own? I know you're tired, but let's see how you do one last time. I'll catch you when you arrive, I promise you.”

Marco gritted his teeth: he didn't want Mario to catch him like he was a damsel in distress. But he couldn't refuse either, so he began to make his way to the boy, concentrating to coordinate his arms and legs, opening the palms of his hands to push the water. He was slowly making his way, and he felt tired, but at least he wasn't drinking all the lake's water anymore. Improvements. Mario wasn't that far anymore, and Marco could see him, beautiful and smiling, staying afloat without a problem; he wasn't saying anything, but Marco could feel his entire figure emanating encouragements.

And suddenly, with a few final pushes, there he was, and Mario was catching him; Marco tried to put some distance, starting to say that there was no need, but he sank a bit and water filled his throath, and suddenly he was coughing, eyes shut closed. And again, arms came closing around him, but this wasn't just the other boy catching him: Mario was chuckling, muttering “Silly,” and he was hugging him, hugging him tight. “I'm proud of you” Marco heard through the rushing in his ears, and again he pushed himself back, this time just to look at Mario in the eyes.

And then.

Then Marco's mind went in complete blackout, because Mario was kissing him.

It was lips on lips, just a wet touch, but it felt like an electric shock to his poor, unprepared body; Marco's mind was screaming, telling him to react, to open up his mouth immediately and take, take, _take_ , but before the young artist could act on this urges, Mario pulled back.

Marco, still shocked, looked at him while he made a small smile: “I think it's quite enough for today, huh? Now you can officially swim like a frog.” He grinned. “I'm hungry. Let's eat something.”

And, just like that, the boy was swimming back, pulling Marco along with him. Reus was speechless, and could only concentrate on moving his body and keep his face out of the water; when they finally reached the grass, Mario took two towels and gave one to Marco with a smile. The boys dried themselves as they could, then took a seat on the blanket; Mario took an apple and started eating it, while Marco, not hungry at all, lied down, staring at the blue sky.

“When did you realize you wanted to paint for a living?”

Oh. Not talking about the kiss, then.

“I guess I've always thought I would have liked it. I've always loved to draw. As a kid, I would ask everyone to pose for me. I remember this birthday” Marco smiled, “All I wanted was a new set of colours, and I was so disappointed when they gave me new clothes that I cried. I think I was nine. Mind you, I am so embarassed to think about it now, because I was lucky enough to have parents who would give me presents. Dad is a smith, so, you know, it's not like we're rich. But I wanted new tools so badly that I acted like a little prat.”

Mario giggled: “It didn't come as a surprise, then, what you wanted to do.”

“Not really. Of course it wasn't their first choice, for me, but when I started getting praises, they, too, started incouraging me. When Thomas agreed to be my master, mother cried of joy” He smiles again, remembering how sweet his mother had been. His father, too, had hugged him tightly. Thomas Müller was too famous not to be happy about it. _Make us proud_ , they had said. He was trying.

“They must be wonderful people” Mario said, a tender quality in his voice that made Marco finally look at him. The boy had stopped eating and was now sitting with his his arms crossed, elbows over his knees, watching him. His hair was still wet and therefore darker than usual; with his red lips and bright eyes, he made Marco unsure that the kiss actually happened, that this sweet boy could have granted him such a demonstration of affection.

“You must miss them, being away from home so much” Mario continued, eyes intense.

“Yes, I do” the artist admitted, looking down, “but I'm having the best time of my life nonetheless. I feel like I've really chosen the right path.”

Mario was smiling, so sweetly still. “I'm really happy for you, then, Marco”.

Marco's heart began to beat faster again: every kind word and smile from the other boy was enough to make him melt. He felt that the silence was becoming too long, so he cleared his voice and said, “And what about you?”

But suddenly Mario got up, looking at the sky: “Huh, don't you think it's getting late? And colder too. It's best if we go, so we won't be late for dinner.”

Marco, confused, stood up too, watching Mario gather up their things: he didn't understand why the other boy had this sudden rush, but he was still reluctant to act like a friend, so he refrained the urge to ask him if he was okay.

The walk back was mostly silent; they chattered a bit, imagining all the good things they would eat at dinner. But Marco still felt like something was wrong: between the unforgettable kiss and the sudden rush, there was something he couldn't understand.

And Mario wasn't giving answers.

 

 

 

Dinner was rather quiet. Or, to be fair, Count Gomez and Thomas were as cheery as usual, while Mario Götze was still taciturn, and consequently Marco remained mostly silent too.

He could feel the two men staring at them, questions in their eyes: but Mario and Marco, almost as if they had agreed to it, just smiled at them, randomingly laughing when they sensed a joke.

Walking back to their rooms, Thomas tried again to start a conversation with his apprentice, but Marco only gave him half answers, claiming he was very tired, and they wished each other a good night with both their minds full of doubts and questions.

What Marco really couldn't forget was the kiss. That short, quick touch that changed everything. Because yes, Marco had already agreed with himself that he found the young noble very attractive, and with a good heart, but before their lips touched, he was positive that nothing could ever happen.

But now...

Was it just a friendly gesture? Could it be? Yes, Mario had made it seem so natural, so normal, yet Marco was still almost a stranger to him. How can you do something like that to a stranger, who could easily misjudge you?

But then again, maybe Mario had guessed his -Marco's- feelings and was just acting on them for fun, to see how he would react.

But could Mario, vain, yes, but good-hearted Mario, do something like that? Making fun of him for entertaiment?

The other option was, of course, that Mario, like Marco, simply _wanted_.

But no matter how much Marco wanted it to be true, he couldn't believe it.

He sighed, looking out of the window. The sky was now dark and filled with stars: it was a beautiful night, and he didn't feel tired at all. He expected a sleepless night, which would be truly unfortunate given that they were to wake up early in the morning.

But there was nothing he could do about it.

He grabbed a cloak and exited his room.

 

 

The night was cold, but Marco didn't mind, since he needed to clear his head. The path to the lake was fortunately easy to remember, and he almost didn't notice that there was another person, sitting on the misty grass with his feet almost into the water.

“Mario?” he whispered. The boy didn't hear him and kept staring at the lake and, if Marco's eyes saw correctly, shuddering from time to time. He must have been cold, barefoot and without a cloak, still there he was, unmoving.

Marco, too, found difficult to move, but when he did, he cracked a twig under his foot, making a noise Mario couldn't ignore.

The boy quicky looked back, alarmed; when he saw that it was Marco, his jaw dropped. He slowly stood up, eyes widened and bright.

Even under the moonlight, he was the most beautiful creature Marco had ever seen, and he couldn't explain why even to himself.

Neither of them spoke.

Then Marco took a step, and another, and Mario too, like they were being pulled to each other by an invisible string.

They arrived in front of one other, but they didn't stop.

Their bodies collided, and they were kissing again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can somebody PLEASE TELL ME why now ao3 puts the end notes from the first chapter on EVERY chapter?!?!??! going crazy!


	4. Chapter 4

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The following morning, Thomas was told by a servant that Lord Götze wasn't feeling well, and therefore the morning session was cancelled. The artist, a bit disconcerted, saw the young girl walk past Marco's room, and he called her: “Excuse me, am I to tell my apprentice?”

“Oh no, you don't have to, I told him already. Lord Götze advises you to sleep some more, if you'd like to” she said, and, with a curtsy, she walked off.

Even more baffled, Thomas crossed the hallway and knocked on Marco's door. He waited some moments, then knocked again. Nothing. It was very unlikely that the boy was already asleep again, even more so because he was a light sleeper and a few knocks would surely have woken him.

Weird, really weird. He thought about searching that servant to ask about him, but then realized it wasn't really his business, was it? He could ask Marco later.

But what, then? He wasn't sleepy anymore, he managed to get a good night of uninterrupted sleep and he didn't feel like going back to bed.

Oh, well. Wandering about in the mansion and possibly having breakfast it was, then.

He already had changed clothes, so he just put on a jacket on his shirt, and then he was good to go.

The mansion was quiet, and the light was just beginning to peek behind the curtains; Thomas found no one around until he arrived to the dining room, where a boy around his age, maybe younger, was setting the long table.

“Oh,” the servant said upon seeing him. “Good morning.”

“Good morning to you” Thomas smiled. “I'm Thomas Müller”.

The boy smiled back, bowed, then stuttered, “It is- it is a great pleasure to meet such a talented artist.”

“Have you ever seen one of my works?”

The other blushed, and it was clear that he hadn't, he had only listened to people praise the work of the great Müller. Thomas watched him stutter some more, bemused, and he was just about to relieve the poor boy from his embarassement, when a voice called “Benni! _Benedikt!_ How long does it take to--” and another young man entered the dining room, this one dressed simply and with a white apron. He was blonde and very tall, and had a big knife in one hand.

Thomas arched a brow: “That would seem suspicious, but I can guess you come from the kitchen.”

“Oh! Oh sir, I'm sorry for this” the man bowed, “I'm Manuel Neuer, the cook.”

“I'm Thomas Müller and it is a great pleasure to meet you. Your meals are beyond delicious.”

Neuer was just about to reply, but Thomas spoke again: “And I do not want either of you to call me 'sir', please. We are equals, I'm here to do my job as much as you are. And most of all I do not want you to call 'sir' that little blonde brat of my apprentice, God knows it would go to his head. Understood? Benedikt?”

Both young men were smiling, but before Benedikt could say something, a deep, silky voice came from behind: “You will not stop me from calling you sir, master Müller”

Thomas just about froze to the spot. He wasn't prepared to see the count so early in the morning.

“My Lord,” the servants said, bowing, and Thomas turned around, looking at Mario Gomez, dark hair perfectly styled, a tiny smirk on his flawless face.

But let it never been said that Thomas Müller is one to easily lose his wits.

So he bowed, too, grinning: “Good morning, my Lord.”

The count walked closer, eyes never leaving Thomas, “I did not expect to see you here so early. Have breakfast with me.” he looked at his servants: “You can go back to your duties, thank you.”

While Benedikt and Manuel did as they were told, Mario and Thomas took a seat at the table. “So. Charming my servants, I see?”

“I doubt I am that interesting” Thomas grinned. “Them, on the other hand. Neuer, that cook. Pretty young, yet everything I ate so far is incredible.”

“A young talent, much like you” the count praised,“Your modesty is admirable, but you should let everyone treat you with the respect and awe that you inspire them.”

“Everyone?” Thomas chuckled. “With all due respect, my Lord, at the end of the day, what matters to everyone is the painting, not the painter. I'm just a tool, not something to be fawn over.”

“If only Mario thought of himself like that!” the noble joked, with a smile. “You're no ordinary man, Thomas Müller.”

“Good” he agreed, “this isn't a place for an ordinary man. Seems like my choices lead me well.”

Benedikt brought them various plates of food, and for some minutes neither of them talked, but the count's eyes always seemed to come back to Thomas.

“So, why are you here alone? No session this morning?”

“Apparently your nephew doesn't feel well, so, no” he replied, then took a sip of juice.

Mario's eyebrows drew together: “Does he? Very weird. I'll go check on him later.”

“Yeah, I hope it's nothing serious” Thomas agreed, thinking about Marco's disappearance. “Anyway, I was already too awake to come back to bed.”

“I understand. And what are your plans for the day, then?”

Thomas smiled happily , “I absolutely have no idea.”

The count laughed, good-naturedly. “My library is very much open to you. As is every other room of this mansion.”

“Thank you, really,”

“But-” the count hesitated. “I have to take care of some matters in the nearer village. If the thought of reading doesn't really excite you, how about you come with me? I'll show you around.”

Thomas felt, despite himself, a light blush colouring his cheeks. It happened too often with the count, but his kindness always managed to disarm him.

“That would be- I would be honored to come with you!” he exclaimed, and Gomez honest to God _beamed_.

“It's settled, then.”

  


  


  


Riding a horse was, maybe, the only physical activity Thomas truly enjoyed.

For long journeys, they always used their little old carriage, but when the customer was close enough to their village, they preferred to ride.

Marco was beautiful on a horse, elegant, with a grace Thomas was sure he didn't possess himself; but, when they raced, he always won, because he, concentrated while working but lazy by nature, got absolutely reckless when he took speed, while Marco was more cautious, careful.

But now, riding a beautiful brown horse, Thomas tried to shut down his instincts and follow the count's lead; it was not exactly a hardship, because he got to look at him, gorgeous Mario Gomez, back straight, strong legs tight around the horse, bouncing. _Bouncing._

“The village was truly lovely, my Lord” Thomas said, and it was true: very little but with beautiful wooden houses, and a river that flowed across it. The count had showed him around while he did some errands, and it was plain to Thomas that every person they had spoken with was totally enamored by Gomez. And that was most understandable, given that the noble man always had a kind word and a beautiful smile for every one.

All of them were also clearly fascinated with him, with this famous artist from the north: and so, instead of keeping himself in check, to show them he was worthy of his fame and of the company of their count, he made an absolute goofball of himself.

He kept making jokes with the young people, who would laugh, with girls and women (some of them would giggle and others would smile, disconcerted), and with the elders, who would even frown and look suspiciously at him.

It maybe wasn't the best, appropriate behaviour for a first time in a village.

But he never lost his smile and never could make himself stop, because, well. The count was positively _shining_ , he spoke so little but always, always watched him and waited for his jokes, laughing at all of them, even when they were frowned upon.

Thomas felt the best he had felt in ages, maybe in forever.

“I'm very glad you liked it” the count smiled, riding his horse next to him, “You certainly made an impression.”

“Good,” Thomas laughed, “I never want to be forgotten!”

And, with a gentle kick to his horse, he winked at the count and then finally lost himself to it, to the race, the speed, and the feeling of being watched by the most gorgeous man the world had ever seen.

  


  


By the time Thomas arrived to the hall of his room's hallway, it was almost dinnertime, so he knocked again on Marco's room.

From the other side of the door came muffled noises; then there he was, his apprentice, dressed very casually, with messy hair and sleepy eyes.

“What happened to you?”

Marco yawned. “You just woke me up!”

“I can see that, but why? And why weren't you in your room this morning?”

“Jeez, Thomas, chill” Marco smiled, “I just went for an early walk this morning, so an hour ago I was feeling tired. Nothing special.”

“It will be hard to fall asleep tonight, and tomorrow we have to work” Thomas sternly replied. “Well, if lord Götze feels better, that is.”

“Do you think? I haven't seen him, today,” Marco said, a bit pink on the cheeks. Really cute, that little crush.

“I met Kloppo on my way here and he told me Götze would join us for dinner, so I think so, yes. How about we both change clothes and then head downstairs? I'll wait for you here.”

“Wonderful.”

  


  


Dinner was, at always, a pleasant thing.

Mario, the younger, didn't seem ill at all, perhaps just a bit tired, but with rosy cheeks, as usual: he was maybe a little more subdued, but that didn't stop him from asking questions and providing smiles for everyone.

His appetite, too, seemed quite normal -the boy truly liked to eat- and it was his uncle who reminded him to try to refrain himself. (“You might feel better now, and I know you haven't eaten much today, but better go easy on it.” he had said. Mario, the nephew, had sighed. Thomas had catched Marco's dimple twitching on his cheek.)

“So, did you liked the village, Master Müller?” Götze asked, sipping his water (“And no wine!”).

“Very!” was the response. “Small but lovely. Delightful people.”

The last bit caused Gomez to snort quietly, and Thomas grinned, while the two boys smiled too, not understanding.

“What happened? What did you _do_?” asked Marco, putting down knife and fork, already with a tired expression.

“The faith you have in me, child! I was impeccable!” Thomas exclaimed, acting offended, and Mario Gomez laughed out loud. “It's true,” he agreed, “he charmed everyone by telling unforgettable jokes.”

“More like unfor _givable_ , I imagine” Marco sighed, a hand on his forehead, while Götze laughed: “This is priceless, I truly wanted to see their faces! Did you say something nasty to the old man who always sits outside his door? God, I _hate_ him”

“Mario!”

“I do, tío! He's always asking too much about my life, watching me with those crow's eyes. It's unnerving and a bit creepy.”

“Oh well, should I send you to town with an army of soldiers next time, yeah?” Gomez remarked, sarcastic, and Mario giggled, looked briefly at Marco, said “Nah, perhaps just sir Reus” and the faint blush on Marco's cheeks, yes, that, Thomas could recognize.

Perhaps the young noble was starting to reciprocate Marco's interest.

“Well maybe tomorrow, after your session, you can go together” Gomez said, a smile in his voice.

Thomas was about to make a snarky joke, but a yawn made him stop, and the count noticed: “Tired, Master Müller?”

He shrugged: “Only a bit. Been a long day, you know.”

“Oh, I know” was the amused reply, “I was there, remember?”

And it hit Thomas that _yes_ , he was there, indeed. They spent the whole day together, and what a joyful day it had been.

“He is just not used to be on the move for hours without relaxing” smirked Marco, because _of course,_ so he yelled “Excuse me if I didn't have my beauty sleep, unlike _others!_ ”

“Nobody asked you not to go back to sleep”

“Nobody asked you to be such a pussy about it”

“Is that the way you talk with noblemen around? And I'm supposed to learn from _you_?”

“Aren't you supposed to keep that long nose of yours out of my business?”

“First of all, how very dare you, my nose is _not--”_

And then Mario Götze was laughing out, loud and unfairly cute, and Thomas, with great satisfaction, looked at Marco, who was trying and failing to end the sentence.

Positively _whipped_.

Thomas stood up, and Marco watched his smug expression with a scowl: “I'm afraid I've got to leave you then, my friends, before my apprentice says something he might come to regret. Thank you for a great dinner and oh, thank you, Benedikt, my compliments to chef Neuer” he said, spotting the servant who came to collect his plate, and who blushed and nodded, “Six o'clock, tomorrow morning, then? No more illness, sir Götze” he smiled, and Mario gave him two thumbs up.

He had almost reached the stairs, when he heard someone behind him, and sure enough, Mario Gomez was cathing up.

“Can't let go of my company yet, can you?” Thomas teased, apologetic and bold, because the amazing day together had led him to such a good mood that he felt he could be a little cheekier with the count, who, judging by his laugh, appreciated it.

“Figured I could leave you at your door, then keep walking to mine”

Thomas let it go for a beat or two, but then, “Isn't your room in a totally different area of the mansion, though?”

Again, the count laughed, maybe a bit embarassed this time, “It's not that far, I promise you. And I don't mind.”

“Of course you don't” Thomas remarked, smiling, but there was a faint blush coming on his cheeks and his stomach felt kind of funny.

They walked in a comfortable silence for a while, and when they were almost at his door, Thomas said “I had fun today. Thank you for letting me to come with you.”

They stopped in front of each other, and Mario's eyes were so _kind_. “It was my pleasure. I'm glad I asked you. You are truly something, master Müller.”

“Perhaps one day I'll convince you to call me Thomas” smiled the artist, and then.

Mario's eyes went so intense, Thomas could not look away from that blue; and yet, he had to, because the count leaned in and kissed him on the cheek.

“Perhaps it won't take much to convince me” he murmured, low enough and _close enough_ to send a shiver down Thomas' spine. And then, just how the moment came, it was gone. Mario smiled again, said “See you tomorrow” and walked away. Disappeared.

And Thomas still couldn't move.

  


  


  


“Well, someone's in a _mood”_ commented Marco, and Thomas pretended not to hear him.

It wasn't that he was in a mood; he just didn't sleep much, that was all.

It wasn't like he had _tossed and turned_ for hours refusing to take care of an urgent matter between his legs, either.

He was an healthy young man, yes. But still, he shouldn't have been turned on by the mere touch of lips on his cheeks, and the feeling of a hot breath, a low voice.

_God damn it._

“Everything okay?” Götze asked, curious, and Thomas mentally shook himself, feeling guilty of having unholy thoughs about the uncle of the boy he was working for.

He planted a smile on his face and smudged a line on the canvas: “Yes, my lord, don't worry.”

“Am I doing okay?” the boy sounded unsure, but he was perfect where he was, sat on a stool on the balcony, the green fields behind him and the rising sun still below him.

“You're doing great” Marco said quickly, voice firm, like he couldn't wait for Thomas to answer, lest he said something to upset the boy.

Which, really, Mario was just sitting there, looking around. There wasn't much he could have done wrong, but still, he smiled sweetly at Marco, who still had a reassuring expression.

Stupid protective boys with a crush.

It was seven am, and Thomas had already had enough of the day.

“Marco, please” he called, “I know I have a no-food policy for when we work early, but go tell someone to get me a cup of tea, would you? And if you and lord Mario want something to drink or eat, as well.”

The boy walked away, not before asking Götze about five times if he was sure he didn't want anything; and that left the artist and the young noble, who admitted, a little embarassed, “I already had orange juice and an apple this morning, when I got up.”

Thomas smiled, not stopping his work, “That's good, I'd hate for you to faint in the middle of a session”.

Mario giggled, “Never fainted from lack of food my whole life. I never seem to lose my appetite, which sometimes can be unfortunate!” from the corner of his eyes, Thomas saw the boy looking down, head bowed, “Of course I know it's not common to always have great food whenever you feel like it. I don't mean to sound spoiled”

But that was what Mario was, a part of Thomas wanted to reply, but the other, the biggest one, stopped him. Yes, Mario was probably filthy rich, and gave a lot of things for granted, but he was a pleasant kid, and this moment, this tiny moment of self-consciousness, helped Thomas realise again that he also seemed to have a good heart.

“You are not wrong,” he said then, gently, “you are lucky, and, if I remember correctly, it is also your uncle that loves to spoil you a bit” and here Mario giggled, blushing at the memory, “but it's nice that you are aware that your condition doesn't apply to all. I would dare say it's refreshing.” Mario looked up again, and Thomas knew because he had stopped working for a moment to watch him. “I'm serious. I met such little noble brats in these years, it's unbelievable! There were times in which I honestly wanted nothing more than break their precious portraits on their heads” and Mario was laughing again, so Thomas felt happy with himself.

“Always gossiping” Marco said from behind them, and when Thomas turned around, ready to have him handing his tea, the last thing he could have been expecting to see was Mario Gomez next to his apprentice.

He was smiling (but when wasn't he?), and it was he who extended his hands, which were carring a mug: “Good morning.”

“You've got to stop surprising me by arriving at my back when I least expect you” blurted out Thomas, instead of the gracious _hello_ he had in mind. The count looked amused: “Actually, I'm starting to get used to hear your jokes first thing in the morning.”

“To see me making a fool of myself, you mean,” he took the mug, fingers touching lightly, “thanks.”

“From what I'm seeing on that canvas, you are no fool, as I think I've already told you”

Thomas groaned, wanting to cover the work with his body from Mario's eyes: “Don't look! I'm not fond of letting others see my work before it's done, especially in the early stages.”

Behind them, Marco was trying to convince Mario to share an orange.

Revolting.

“I'm sorry, I couldn't help myself.”

“Whatever” Thomas mumbled, still a bit grumpy, especially with the reason of why he couldn't sleep standing right before him. “And thanks for personally bringing me my tea.”

Mario smiled, “I had just finished getting breakfast when Marco got to the kitchen. I figured I'd see a bit of the work in progress before getting to work myself.”

“Oh?” Thomas asked, curious, “What do you have to do?”

The count shrugged, “Pretty much the usual. Sign some papers, talk to the farmers, try to fix some problems... It all pretty much concernes the mansion and the rest of my possessions and belongings.”

“A lot of paper signing, huh?” smiled Thomas, and Mario answered, equally jokingly, “And you, a lot of paper colouring, huh?”

Before Thomas could think of a more cheeky retort, Götze said, “Should I stay put, again?”

And, yes, he should be working. Not flirting with a count.

“Yes, my lord, sorry,” he said, then looked at his uncle: “Is there something else I can do for you, your Highness?”

Gomez laughed out loud for a good ten seconds, then said, still with a good smile, “Yes, don't you ever, ever call me that again.” He looked briefly at the two boys, then back at Thomas. “Have a good time, lads. I'll see you later.”

“Good for you, to cast your blessing upon the folks!” yelled Mario, the young one, and all of them couldn't help snickering when the noble, the count, that example of beauty and grace, made a rather rude gesture with his finger to his nephew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A MASSIVE APOLOGY, this chapter has been ready for DAYS but I didn't have wifi on my computer so yeah, it's been a shitty week.  
> Hope the chapter is okay, i dunno. I'm not feeling really great lately, i hope it doesn't reflect too much on the fic.   
> I hope to update much sooner next time, but feel free to come ask me on tumblr or twitter, or come yell at me if i don't have valid excuses :P  
> okay, i'm off, i have Fireproof on repeat!  
> Lots of love to every single one of you.

**Author's Note:**

> So, it went a bit like this:  
> Lu [enlightening me about soccerdom] "but there aren't many fics about them"  
> Me "Shame"  
> Lu "and there is even less smut"  
> Me "...PITY"  
> Lu "You should write one"  
> Me "Heh yeah, I know next to nothing about them and most of all about FOOTBALL how would i write it"  
> ....and so i started writing an AU. For my Ludo, which writes so much better than I do and is overall an amazing friend. Miss crying about Super Mario's beauty on your bed. Love you xx


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